


An Alliance with Breakfast

by Laylah



Category: Suikoden V
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Inviting me to my own balcony?" Arshtat asks, raising an eyebrow.</p>
<p>"I'm guessing you won't let me steal you away someplace more exotic," Ferid smiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Alliance with Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suzume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzume/gifts).



> For Suzume -- thank you for helping me with my medical bills!

There is a lull of a season between the Sacred Games and the wedding. For some princesses the wait has been longer, when there were difficulties to settle with the victor or his family, or when the Games were held while the bride-to-be was still a girl rather than a young woman. Arshtat has been lucky on two counts, there.

A season is the least delay that protocol allows; it means time enough for preparations to be made, for guests to be invited, and for the newest member of the Queen's Knights to begin learning his duties. It's that last part, from what Arshtat has heard, that is causing the most uproar this time. Ferid Egan is a brilliant warrior, but his sense of propriety and formality leaves something to be desired in the eyes of the old guard.

Secretly, Arshtat finds that rather charming, and often she wishes she could have more of it. She's currently only supposed to see Ferid at public functions and with a chaperone, which means she isn't spending near as much time with him as she might like. He's like a breath of fresh air, when court protocol is all formal, stiff robes and constrained, ritualized politeness. Maybe, when she has him at her side and it's _her_ court, they'll be able to do away with some of that awful stuffiness.

This morning she has no obligations, apart from being expected at breakfast; nobody will come to bother her about that until nine bells, which is hours away. Arshtat slips on a light robe and opens the door to her balcony. It's a beautiful morning, comfortably warm, the early sunlight brushing the Feitas with gold, a gentle breeze rippling the water. Arshtat leans on the balcony railing, enjoying the morning sun.

And after a few minutes, there's a sound of scraping stone off to her left. Arshtat whirls toward, it reaching for the knife that should be at her belt—a Falenan royal must always be prepared for attempts on her life—and freezing up when she realizes she came outside without it.

Brown hands curl over the white stone of the rail, and then Ferid boosts himself up where she can see his grinning face, and the tension leaves Arshtat in a little rush of half-laughing breath. "You scoundrel!" she says, hiding her laughter behind her sleeve. "I could have called the Queen's Knights on you just now." _I could have attacked you myself_ , she doesn't want to add.

Ferid swings a leg over the rail, his smile turning sheepish. "I don't suppose I'd be able to claim I was just testing their attentiveness, could I?"

"You could try," Arshtat says, "but somehow I doubt it would be all that convincing." She lowers her sleeve to let him see that she's still smiling. "Some might suggest there was a less well-intentioned motive for your actions."

"Well," Ferid says with a wink, "I suppose it's true that I'm here hoping to satisfy an appetite."

Arshtat's eyes widen; that's _far_ more direct than any of her noble suitors would ever have dared to be.

But Ferid only reaches over the rail again and produces a picnic basket. "Join me for breakfast?" he asks.

"Inviting me to my own balcony?" Arshtat asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm guessing you won't let me steal you away someplace more exotic," Ferid smiles.

The thought _is_ tempting—to just get away from all of this for a while, to have an adventure outside the bounds of the castle and the costumes and the rules that go along with it all. The longing must show on her face, because Ferid starts to look hopeful. "No," Arshtat says. "I shouldn't. Lovely as it sounds." The problem with taking a breath of fresh air, she supposes, is that then you want to cast yourself to the wind.

"When you're queen, then, instead of princess," Ferid says. "They won't be able to keep you locked up _all_ the time, will they?"

"I suppose they won't," Arshtat says. "Certainly not with the commander of my knights conspiring to prevent it."

Ferid nods. "I'll do my best to be patient, then," he says. "In the meantime, we can at least enjoy this morning, can't we?"

"I'd love to," Arshtat says.

There's a blanket packed in the top of the basket; they spread that on the balcony floor and sit down to unpack the rest of Ferid's picnic treasures. There are handfuls of sweet berries, a loaf of soft golden bread, a tin of tiny smoked fish, a bottle of delicate sweet wine. Breakfast downstairs with the rest of the castle would be similar food, but Arshtat is certain it tastes better like this, shared in secret, with the rising sun warming them both and Ferid smiling at her like this is all he could hope for from the day. They feed each other little choice bites, and heat blooms across Arshtat's cheeks when Ferid licks sweet juice from her fingertips.

After they've finished the food, and tucked empty tins and bottles away in the basket again, Ferid stretches out as if he'd lie down with his head in Arshtat's lap. "Wait," she says, holding up a hand to stop him.

"Something the matter?" he asks.

Arshtat shakes her head. "I want—I want it the other way around," she says, feeling a little silly. She hesitates, trying to find words to explain herself, but Ferid doesn't wait for the explanation. He sits up, crossing his legs, and sheds his jacket to spread it across his lap.

"All you have to do is ask," he says.

"You make things so simple," Arshtat says, which could perhaps be a complaint from someone else, but she can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and she knows that he knows that she doesn't mean it that way. She lies down on the blanket, pillowing her head on his thigh; his shadow shades her eyes from the sun, and he toys idly with the length of her braid.

"I expect it won't make me popular with some of your court," he says. "But I'm willing to suffer their displeasure if it means you'll be happy."

Arshtat smiles, giving herself a moment to bask—in the warmth, the comfort, the _safety_ she has here. "Thank you," she says. "I'm glad I'll have you by my side. Not only as my consort, but as my ally." Her hand finds his, twining their fingers together; he has calluses on his palm. "How much...how much do you already know about the struggles for the succession?"

"A...fair bit," Ferid says. "As much as an outsider could be expected to, I guess. But it's more complicated than that, isn't it?"

"It is," Arshtat admits. "And I fear it will get worse before it gets better. As my consort—as my ally—you should know these things."

He squeezes her hand. "I'm listening."

Arshtat marshals her thoughts in silence for a moment; then, the morning sun bathing them both, her ally's hand clutched in her own, she begins.


End file.
